So then my stomach gets lonely and picks up the phone
So then my mother is shy and home with her mop
So then my father is a bloated newspaper hung on the knob
So then my sister falls asleep with the snow in her arm
So then I explode into an ice cube of iseidomals
So then I jut out like a bird brain in a left brain
So then I get down and bump every grind in the dump
So then what if I slip up and smack a child with a bone
So then I’m never a mother gushing for an epidural
So then I fall off and break the axel of my cankle
So then I am eeking the alphabet of my grandmother
Counting teeth marks left in the mud
One apivorous morning
Two shays of the mouth
Too many cordate atoms
So then I’m a brass hook alow a barathea bog
And she sings through the apples swelling in the yard.